


Running to

by WahlBuilder



Category: Mars: War Logs
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Drunkenness, Hurt No Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 21:40:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15805110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Private investigator Williams is drunk, and Roy brings him home.





	Running to

Private investigator Williams is drunk. Or rather, pissed. Or how do Those Fucking Americans say? Plastered. Blotto.

Roy can tell not by the reek of gin in his breath, not from the way he’s unsteady—Roy has witnessed him coming with brilliant conclusions while being barely able to stay vertical—but the way he keeps mouthing at Roy’s neck. For someone with so much anger on display, in this, Tenacity is really private.

And really fucking heavy.

Roy hates that Tenacity drinks so much, and though it’s been getting rare that he’s so pissed, these bouts are getting heavier. Instead of a few glasses, he drinks himself nearly to heart stroke.

Roy hates drunks with a vengeance, and it has nothing to do with his previous occupations. Him dragging Tenacity home has nothing to do with that also.

It’s all about his feelings for the sod.

The small apartment is dark but for a lamp left on the bedside table, and even though Roy knows the apartment well, there is always the danger of tripping over papers, books, an occasional gun.

Roy deposites Tenacity on the permanently unfolded bed, and it groans pitifully (it’s a terribly loud piece of furniture, as Roy well knows). Roy curses under his breath, realising that he should have taken the jacket off Tenacity, but he can’t attempt it now. Tenacity would have to sleep like this.

Roy rolls him onto his side, trying not to breathe too deeply. The fumes are unbearable, enough to make his eyes water, to make him tipsy.

He pulls back—but Tenacity catches the sleeve of his jacket, without even opening his eyes, uneven dark patches on his cheeks. Roy pries his fingers away gently. ‘I’ll bring you water.’

He leaves his shoes by the bed, even though they’ve already made a mess of the floor and the carpet, and pads to the kitchen area. The Swan is cold, but it has water, presumably boiled, so after rummaging in cupboards Roy finds a relatively clean glass and fills it. He finds a lonely half of a lemon in a butter dish, and squeezes it into the water. Other than that, Tenacity’s cupboards are empty of food. Roy decides to stock up in the morning, then goes back to Tenacity. The man is breathing evenly, to Roy’s relief.

The question of placement of the glass occupies Roy for a while, as he tries to move a stack of papers off the bedside table and onto the floor without dropping anything. Then he places the glass on the table.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, Tenacity’s knee a slight pressure to his thigh, and puts his shoes back on. He gets up, turns the light off.

‘You going to him.’

Tenacity’s voice is quiet and slurry, and heavy with emotion.

Roy stands still. He doesn’t need elaboration to know what Tenacity is talking about. ‘Yeah.’

‘Don’t.’

‘Have to. Go to sleep.’ He’s not having this conversation when Tenacity is pissed—but then, they are never having this conversation when he’s sober. And all of it leads to him getting darker and darker and ending up drunk on something, anything, and Roy bringing him home…

Roy runs a hand over his face. He’s so tired. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Tenacity shuffles, props himself on an elbow—or tries to. Roy watches it with the detachment of a dreamer.

‘What… What’s he give you that _I_ can’t?’

Roy runs his tongue over his teeth. ‘It is not a fucking competition.’ He hates drunks—but this is _Tenacity_. ‘Innocence needs me.’ The truth is, it’s more the other way around. And Tenacity—the sober Tenacity—knows it well, but now he’s floating in the fumes of his misery.

And still trying to sit up. ‘Need you, too,’ he murmurs. There is something wrong about his voice, and when he turns his face to Roy and the feeble light of the early dawn falls onto it, it glimmers in his beard, on his tears.

Roy sighs. He bends to Tenacity, cups his cheek, the beard soft against his palm, then kisses him on the forehead. Tenacity’s skin is hot and clammy. ‘Go to sleep. Please. I’ll be here in the morning.’

‘Promise?’

Roy hates the softness of Tenacity’s voice, the… helplessness. ‘Promise. Rest.’ He pushes him down gently, strokes his cheek. He waits until Tenacity falls asleep, then leaves, closing the door with care.

All is quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> It'll get better, I promise ;) Maybe.


End file.
